


A Breach of Public Conduct

by bees_stories



Category: Torchwood
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Dystopia, IN SPACE, M/M, emotional hurt comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-18
Updated: 2015-10-18
Packaged: 2018-04-26 23:14:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,141
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5024374
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bees_stories/pseuds/bees_stories
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jack and Ianto travel to Mentat Secont for what is supposed to be a routine haulage job. Forced to leave the spaceport to retrieve additional paperwork, a selfless act on Ianto's part puts them at odds with the bizarre laws of conduct that rule the planet. This story follows <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/4970038">Bounce Fatigue</a>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Breach of Public Conduct

* * *

"Well, aren't they paragons of officiousness," Jack muttered sarcastically under his breath as the pair of Customs and Excise officials moved away to confer with a third colleague.

It was clear the customs people weren't happy either as they scrutinised the cargo manifest and other supporting paperwork. From the little they had said before marching off, they wanted even more documentation than the thick stack of forms they had already been given, and until that happened they weren't going to release the consignment of wrapping fabric used for packaging Tula, the spice that was one of the principal exports of Mentat Prime. 

"I mean, look at these things." Jack held up his right hand and glared at the device one of the enforcement officers had strapped to it. 

Ianto flexed his own hand, stretching the uncomfortable synthetic strap and shifting it into a slightly less awkward position. A shiver went down his spine as he glanced around the landing field, and at the tall, pale, angular-featured people engaged in their various tasks. Residents of Mentat Secont had a permanent version of the Consentatron implanted into their palms at birth. "It's only for a few hours." He started to lay a consoling hand on Jack's shoulder but hesitated before he made contact. Instead he raised his right hand and waited for Jack to do the same so that they could activate the crystals of the Consentatrons.

Jack pressed his lips together in an expression of irritation. "Really, Ianto?"

Ianto shrugged back at him. "When in Rome – " 

Jack's irritated expression intensified. He blew out a gusty breath and raised his palm, curling his fingers so they grazed Ianto's, even though touching hands had been expressly discouraged. "Rome was much more fun," he groused. "And much more colourful." 

Ianto surveyed the subdued landscape that seemed to be mainly painted in shades of grey and brown, knowing from long experience that Jack's nostalgic tone meant there was a story he could share from the heady days of his youth. No doubt it involved orgies, or bath houses, or something of an equally licentious nature, where touching was not only expected but encouraged. Sadly, they weren't in Rome. The Secont customs officials had delivered a long and detailed lecture about how visitors were meant to conduct themselves while they were planet-side. Many of the rules had to do with unstructured social interaction. The Secont people weren't fans, requiring any contact – whether it was verbal or physical – to be approved by both the contactor and the contactee before it was initiated. Communication of any sort was a complicated affair, requiring every exchange, no matter how trivial, to be preceded by the raising of palms to trigger the recording sensor in the Consentatron. 

Rule more or less satisfied, Ianto placed a consoling hand against Jack's shoulder and gave it a squeeze. He tipped his head towards the canteen. It had been hours since their last meal, they had expended a great deal of energy making up after their not-quite fight, and he was hungry. "Come on, let's go get something to eat while they sort the red tape." 

Jack shook his head. "There's no way to contact Bari's agent from the spaceport." He glanced around the docking area until his gaze settled on a gaping hole in the wall that was the shaped like a bank of public comm stations. "Telecoms were outlawed a year ago as an invasion of privacy. Bari said if there was any hassle we should go straight to his agent in town and pick up whatever we need in person." He took what Ianto interpreted as a calming breath, and then strode towards the customs officer with his palm up, and what was probably meant to be a conciliatory expression plastered over his face. 

Ianto watched as every few seconds Jack, or one of the customs people, held up his hand to get permission to speak. It seemed an awkward way to communicate, but eventually the conversation was concluded to Jack's evident satisfaction. When the customs agents moved away he tipped his head, indicating that Ianto should join him, and when they were once more shoulder to shoulder he let out a gusty sigh, raised his hand towards Ianto, and after they had satisfied the planetary protocol said, "That was irritating." He glanced around the spaceport and found the departure terminal for land transportation. "This way." 

The unsettled feeling that had crawled up and down Ianto's spine upon their arrival intensified during the journey into town. On the other planets they had visited, travellers acted as they had on Earth, squeezing into any available space on a crowded shuttle. They would converse, as much as disparate languages allowed, making polite small talk about the weather, or their travel plans. On Secont, travellers – no matter how journey fatigued – held themselves stiffly, with their eyes directed downward towards their laps. It was clear they were taking every pain to avoid contact with their seat-mates, especially if those seat-mates had a black symbol tattooed on their wide, deeply lined, foreheads. But it wasn't easy. Both men and women were clad in flowing robes that hung like tents off their wearer's broad-shouldered bodies, and it was apparently taboo for even the folds of cloth to touch. 

Although Ianto was no great talker, he found the absence of other voices disconcerting. The shuttle was eerily silent. The people of Secont didn't engage in trivial conversation to pass the time. As for Jack, the most social of social animals, it was clear he also found the behaviour of their fellow passengers more than a little unnerving. After a while it was also clear, by the way he was tapping his fist against his knee and humming under his breath, that he was fighting the urge to break out into song, just to provoke a reaction. 

Ianto held up his hand, and then when Jack raised his palm he grasped it, pressing their Consentatrons together. The woman in the next seat, who was discreetly checking out the other passengers, gasped in shocked surprise. 

Jack let his gaze flicker over to the busybody, daring her to do something, anything, that would break the monotony of their journey, and then when the woman looked away, he met Ianto's eyes. Ianto took a breath, encouraging Jack to do so as well when he saw agitation in the lines of his partner's face. They lowered their hands down to lap height, but kept them clasped. 

An indeterminable amount of time later, the shuttle pulled into the town centre. The passengers disembarked like zombies, shuffling off the coach in a silent procession. Reluctantly, Ianto let go of Jack's hand, and they followed their fellow travellers onto the pavement. Jack stood for a minute, getting his bearings.

Ianto took advantage of the pause to look around as well. When he saw the stocks and the whipping post in the town square he stared openly, too shocked to hide his disbelief. Numbly he watched as the prisoners bound to the devices – each of whom had a prominent black mark on their forehead – were flogged in front of a small crowd of onlookers. Finally his sense of self preservation overcame his surprise and he turned away just as Jack indicated that they should mount a moving walkway.

They didn't speak. It was easier to rely on head tips and raised eyebrows. Eventually Ianto noticed that some of his fellow commuters were communicating in the same sort of way, although they were even more circumspect than he and Jack were being, looking around cautiously before they so much as dipped their chins. 

Ianto wondered why until he became conscious of an itch at the back of his neck. It was a feeling he hadn't been aware of since leaving Earth, and the nearly constant CCTV monitoring that had become a normal part of life in Britain. Carefully he glanced around. It took him a minute, but then he clocked the reflection of a lens embedded about ten feet up in the dun and cocoa coloured mosaic tile that decorated most of the buildings. 

They were being monitored, and not just by the internal computers that recorded the activity of their Consentatrons. 

Ianto shivered, suddenly cold to the core as his distaste for their surroundings morphed into an intense sense of foreboding. He sucked in an apprehensive breath that earned a sharp look of concern from Jack. 

Ianto shook his head minutely, indicating he was alright, and then he concentrated for several paces on regaining control of his body. His breathing became more regular, but the sense of cold remained even as Jack took his hand and said, "This is the place." 

They'd arrived in a commerce district. But unlike the commerce districts of other planets they had visited, the same disconcerting quiet prevailed. Orderly queues snaked out of doorways onto the stationary portion of the pavement. People stood with their bodies held in the same overly tense posture they had used on the shuttle. They kept their heads bowed, avoiding eye contact, only cautiously peeping up from time to time as their queues advanced. 

Ianto stepped off the moving walkway, following a pace behind Jack as he made his way towards a modest looking office block. Without warning an elderly woman – wizened, bent, and silver-haired – who was laden down with a bindle of packages and a walking stick, missed her footing as she attempted to make the transition from the stationary pavement to the moving walkway. She stumbled precariously as her robe was sucked into the gap between the two disparate surfaces. 

Reacting purely on instinct, Ianto lunged sideways to catch her before she fell into the path of the robotic line of commuters. He grabbed the coarse fabric of her robe and yanked on it until it tore free, and then he helped the woman back onto the safety of the stationary pavement.

As soon as she was out of danger, the woman leapt out of Ianto's protective embrace like a scalded cat. She held her hands up in a gesture that universally meant 'keep your distance', and looked around frantically, as if to see what sort of reaction her fall had provoked. Ianto took several paces backwards, smiling apologetically. He put his hands up as well, attempting to show that he meant no harm. He held out his Consentatron, hoping the old woman would offer hers so he could offer a proper apology, even though he wasn't entirely sure what he should apologise for. But it was too late. 

Seemingly out of nowhere, unformed officers appeared en masse. They were bearing stun sticks, and their faces were drawn down in the sort of grim expressions that said they wouldn't tolerate anything but total cooperation.

"Ianto!" Jack cried out in alarm as soon as he saw the advancing officers. "Run!" 

Desperately, Ianto looked for an avenue of escape. The orderly queues that snaked down the street parted and clumped, obediently allowing the officers through and simultaneously blocking his path to freedom. There was nowhere to run to. With a resigned sigh, Ianto shot Jack a sorrowful look and raised his hands once more, this time not in apology, but in defeat, as they were surrounded by black and blue uniforms and hustled away.

His head reeling, Ianto allowed himself to be dragged along the street by a pair of security enforcers who had no compunction whatsoever about violating his personal space. He was hauled bodily up a short flight of stairs into the local office of regulatory enforcement, down a dimly lit corridor, and slammed unceremoniously alongside Jack into an eight by eight foot cell. 

The cell door shut with an ominous clang, and they were left alone.

They were probably being monitored by the ever-present cameras, but by that point, Ianto didn't care. He put his feet on the bench and then rested his forehead on his knees. "I had a bad feeling about this place from the moment we arrived," he said mournfully.

He glanced over at Jack with a glum expression, saw he was angry by the set of his face, but otherwise calm, and went back to contemplating his likely fate. He wasn't quite sure if a magistrate would consider what he had done an involuntary or deliberate violation of personal space, given the extenuating circumstances that he was trying to prevent another person from injury. Either one, according to the Customs and Excise officer who had briefed them, would mean a fine and imprisonment in the public stocks, with the possibility of a public flogging, if the magistrate considered the offence suitably egregious. 

"Do you know," Jack said, breaking into Ianto's grim thoughts. "That there was a time, probably not more than forty years ago, that you couldn't walk down that very same street and not get invited to multiple orgies? It's hard to believe this is the same planet." 

Ianto lifted his head from his knees. He looked at Jack with a stunned sense of disbelief. The expression on Jack's face was nostalgic, which meant he was speaking from personal experience, and not second-hand information. Ianto mouthed _Time Agency_ , and Jack nodded back.

Straightening, and then scooting across the bench so that he and Jack could speak softly to one another without attracting the attention of the guards, Ianto came to rest with his back against the cell wall. Jack gave in to the rebellious urges that had been tempting him since they had arrived. He pulled Ianto down onto his lap, and made himself comfortable, lowering the zip of his flight suit until it hovered closer to his breastbone than his chin. 

Ianto contemplated the Consentatron attached to his palm for a long moment. "What happened?" he asked. He tilted his head towards the cell door to indicate the city beyond its confines. "What led to this?"

Jack shrugged and shook his head, although it was clear he was thinking how best to frame his reply. Finally, he said, "You know how, back on Earth, public morality shifts back and forth?" 

Ianto nodded and thought of stereotypically prudish Victorians who were eventually succeeded by Flappers, and the drab, buttoned down post-World War II era that gave way to the Swinging Sixties and Hedonistic Seventies.

"Well, that sort of thing happens pretty much everywhere. You've heard the expression 'All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy?'" 

Ianto nodded again, relaxing a bit since it seemed the guards were going to leave them alone for the foreseeable future.

"Flip it around." Jack made a loop in the air above Ianto's head, illustrating his point. "Too much playtime was impacting the overall economy of Secont and causing it to grind to a standstill. Pleasure planets are great, don't get me wrong, but they still need to have some kind of functioning infrastructure to supply basic goods and services, if they're going to remain self supporting."

He went quiet for a few beats, allowing Ianto to form his own mental pictures. The notion of piles of unwashed bedding and sex toys, and picked over scraps instead of overflowing buffet tables was distinctly unappealing. Ianto grimaced.

"Exactly," Jack said, as if he could read Ianto's thoughts. "So the government at the time decided maybe they needed to rein it in a little, and starting cracking down, limiting the duration and number of participants at public gatherings." 

"You were there?" Ianto asked softly.

Jack nodded his head. "I missed the heyday of Secont's hedonistic phase, but yeah. It was still a fun place, but the party was definitely starting to lose its fizz." His face crumpled into bewildered lines as he regarded his Consentatron sourly. "But I have no idea what brought them to this." 

Before they could contemplate the matter further, there was a buzzing sound, and then the cell door swung abruptly open. The newly arrived guards shot glowering looks at Jack and Ianto. "The magistrate will read your sentence," said the grimmer of the pair.

"So much for due process," Jack muttered under his breath. 

The memory of the Customs and Excise officer's droning voice kept Ianto's own reaction in check. All he wanted to do was get off the planet as quickly as was humanly possible. He hauled himself upright, and then got to his feet. Leery of adding additional charges to those already levelled at them, Ianto offered his Consentatron to Jack, and then helped him to stand. 

Jack smiled and allowed himself to be brought to his feet, but then he let his palm glide down Ianto's forearm and clasped their hands together. It was a rebellious act, but Ianto's back blocked it from the eyes of the guards. He gave Jack's fingers a squeeze of his own before he straightened his spine into a taut line and turned to faced the guards, raising his Consentatron to let him know that he was ready to face judgement. He could sense Jack's tension on the air and held his breath, but the cocky remark Ianto anticipated remained behind Jack's tightly pressed lips as he displayed his Consentatron in an overt act of submission, evidently coming to the conclusion that the magistrate might go easier on them if he kept his thoughts to himself.

 _Thank you, Jack,_ Ianto thought as they were led down a short corridor and into the dock. 

The judge raked sharp eyes over them. Like the guards, he didn't seem to observe the social niceties that were imposed on the rest of the citizens, or hapless visitors to Secont. He glanced down at the screen embedded in the clear desktop and pursed his lips. "Ianto Jones."

Ianto raised his Consentatron, identifying himself.

"You are hereby charged with a breach of public conduct. More specifically, that on this day, you violated the personal space of a citizen of Secont. Do you have anything to say in your defence before sentence is rendered?"

Ianto swallowed back his nervousness. He had been rehearsing a short speech from the moment he entered the dock, but one look at the magistrate told him even that would be too much. "Mitigating circumstances, Your Worship." He bit the inside of his cheek in consternation. The guards hadn't informed them how to address the magistrate, and only too late had he considered that the magistrate might find the honorific something other than respectful. 

Evidently, the magistrate wasn't offended. "Explain yourself," he said in a voice that seemed to be permanently set in a sonorous pitch.

"The woman whose space I violated tripped mounting the moving walkway," Ianto explained. "I reacted without thinking to save her from serious injury. It wasn't my intention to cause offence." 

Jack held up his hand, requesting permission to speak. The magistrate looked down at his display. "You are Jack Harkness. Charged with multiple counts of second degree disorderly conduct and invasion of privacy during the same event." He made a tisk tisk sound. "Summary judgement. Two days in the stocks or a thousand drackmar fine."

Jack pulled a _whatever_ face which he quickly smoothed into something more respectful. He held up his hand, and when the magistrate nodded, he said, "I'll take the fine. Now, look, about Ianto. I saw the lady trip and fall. If it hadn't been for his quick thinking, she would have been dragged along the belt and probably crushed to death before anyone could shut it down."

The magistrate frowned and beckoned the primary arresting officers. They approached the desk and spoke too quietly to be heard in the dock. 

Ianto waited on tenterhooks. He felt cold sweat breakout along his forehead and under his arms as the officials conferred. Finally, the magistrate nodded and the officers resumed their former positions at the back of the courtroom. 

"It appears that area surveillance agrees with your version of events," the magistrate said. But before Ianto could thank him, he continued. "However, rules are rules. Therefore, Ianto Jones, I sentence you to be publicly whipped. I also decree that you be entered on the Inappropriate Contact Registry and a brand applied to your forehead, indicating you have been duly registered."

Next to him, Jack drew a sharp breath, clearly in preparation for unloading on the magistrate. But before he could launch his salvo, the magistrate raised a temporising hand. 

"Because you are an off-worlder, and you acted with the instincts of your own people, the sentence shall be suspended. I will, however, impose an additional penalty of a planetary ban of one rotation, effective immediately. If you return to Secont before the ban expires, you will immediately be taken into custody and your full sentence will be enforced. Do you understand the terms and conditions of your parole?"

Ianto nodded his head. "Yes, Your Worship." 

"Good," the magistrate said. He looked at the security officials in the back courtroom. "Officers, process the prisoners and then see them on their way." He touched a button on the desk screen, and then waved his hand, indicating he wanted action sooner rather than later. 

As they were hustled out of the courtroom, Ianto thought of the people he had seen punished in the public square and knew he had been lucky to appear before a lenient judge. From his comment about 'rules being rules' it was clear that mercy was a rare thing, even in a case such as his. He glanced up at Jack, who was still fuming, and silently wished him to be patient for just a little while longer as they were escorted into a windowless security van for the ride to the spaceport. 

After another bout of bureaucratic wrangling over fees and fines, collapsing into the co-pilot's chair was a relief. Ianto shut his eyes as waves of pure nervous exhaustion rode over his body. He could feel Jack's concern even before his fingers closed over his shoulder. 

"Are you okay?" 

Ianto shook his head against the seat back. He was too tired to do more. "Not really."

"Bad day," Jack said, stating the obvious.

Nothing about Secont, except _maybe_ the short time he had spent cradled in Jack's lap while they were in the cells, had been even remotely good. From the ridiculous bureaucracy that had tied up a shipment of fabric, to the even more ludicrous rules of conduct – including the despised Consentatron – Ianto wanted to retcon the entire experience from his memory. "You think?" he replied in a tone dripping with sarcasm. He realised that Jack wasn't responsible for the bizarre conduct of the people of Secont. "Sorry. That wasn't called for." 

"You need something to punch, and I'm the closest target," Jack said. "I get that."

"Still doesn't make it right." Wearily, Ianto opened his eyes and pulled his slumped frame into a posture more appropriate for their task at hand. He reached across the control console and flipped the switch that would feed power to the engines, and then turning his attention to the navigation computer, verified the course that would return them to Mentat Prime. 

Jack watched with a quietly amused expression as Ianto methodically worked his way through both of their pre-flight check-lists. "You wanna fly too?" he asked.

Ianto considered the offer seriously. He needed to log more flight hours before he could qualify for a master pilot's credential, but then he shook his head. The way his day had gone he would probably break some previously unknown to him regulation, be recalled to Secont, and have his parole revoked. "Better not." 

"Right." There was something in Jack's tone of voice that suggested he had followed Ianto's line of reasoning, and agreed with it. "Then sit back, relax, and I'll tell you about the time I was working this case on Wendal in the year 4251, as the locals reckoned time. Now _that_ was a fun planet!" His tone turned thoughtful. "I wonder if they've invented those mood baths yet." 

Ianto adjusted the fit of his restraining harness and then he leaned back in his seat with his eyes shut – not in frustration, but as a better way to build mental pictures – as Jack enthusiastically launched into a tale of a routine mission that quickly evolved into an erotic adventure involving a beautiful, but dangerous four-breasted woman, and the afore mentioned mood baths. 

He let himself be immersed in Jack's story, visualising the strange and exotic sights and sounds of a world where literally anything went, and by the time they reached terminal escape velocity, he was nearly free of the toxic atmosphere of Secont. If it hadn't been for the dull ache, and the thin black and blue line of bruising across the back of his right hand, Ianto might have believed he had fallen asleep, and the entire nightmarish day had been a particularly awful dream.


End file.
